Taking Chances
by Realmer06
Summary: Pieces Universe. When Scorpius Malfoy married Rose Weasley, Al Potter was there. So was Honoria Ridgeton. After years of avoiding her, the paths of Al and Honoria finally converged, and now, Al can't stop thinking about her. But if this is love, can two such different people really make it work, or are they crazy to even try? Companion to the Roses Trilogy.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! Yes, can you believe it? Chapter One of the _LONG_ awaited tale of Al Potter and Honoria Ridgeton! For the uninitiated, this is a companion piece to my Roses Trilogy (Among Thorns, Fighting Briars, Tending Roses), and it will make a lot more sense if you have read _at least_ Tending Roses first.

Thanks as ever to Maggie for the beta-work. I hope it's worth the wait! I'm going to get the other chapters up as soon as I can, but real life is busy and full of many projects requiring my attention, so I'm not going to commit to a specific time frame. I _AM_ working on it, though, I promise!

Without further ado, please enjoy!

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><p><em>Taking Chances, Chapter One<em>

Al Potter successfully avoided meeting Honoria Ridgeton for a very long time. He had a very good reason for this: he didn't like her. When she was a year old, she'd been betrothed to his best friend Scorpius, and seventeen years later, Scorpius had lied about it, so naturally, Al disliked Honoria. It was all very complicated.

They met at a wedding. They actually met briefly at a wedding before that wedding (both were Scorpius's, but the first one didn't take), but as they didn't do anything more than glimpse each other for the first time, that meeting didn't really count.

So they met at a wedding. It was Scorpius's second wedding, the wedding he actually went through with, to Rose Weasley. And honestly, in the scheme of things, that interaction should have had not much more impact than their first – they had a brief conversation, then shared a dance, spending no more than eight minutes in each other's company, and they spoke mostly of Scorpius. They should have parted ways and forgotten the encounter altogether.

Spoilers: They didn't.

Sometimes the events that alter the direction of your life are huge and monumental and obvious. And sometimes, you have a brief conversation with a stranger, and you have no idea that you will wake in the morning a different person than you were the day before.

Falling in love caught Al off guard. The fact that he fell in love with his best friend's ex-fiance after a single conversation didn't help that in the slightest.

Al had decided a long time ago that love and dating wasn't really something he had time for. Scorpius used to ask him (when he got tired of Al meddling in _his_ love life) when he was going to find a girl to focus on for himself, and Al's response was always the same: when he could find someone more interested in dating Al Potter than Harry Potter's son, and when he could find someone who didn't mind that all his free time was spent in the infirmary studying Healing. "And given that I'm pretty sure the girl I just described is mythological, I'm content to focus on no girls at all."

As he got older, of course, St. Mungo's replaced the Hogwarts's Infirmary in his answer, but the principle of the statement remained the same: dating and love simply took more time and energy and focus than Al had to give, and Al had never found anyone who tempted him to reconsider that.

And then he met Honoria.

At first, he didn't realize exactly what was happening. He thought he was picturing her just before he went to sleep the night of the wedding because she was a piece of the puzzle that had been unexpected, replaying the conversation they'd had at the reception simply because it had been so odd. But then, over the course of the next week, he found himself daydreaming about her. _Daydreaming_! Al Potter, who was defined by a single-minded-ness that was scary, especially when it came to his work, daydreaming about some random girl he barely knew when he was supposed to be brewing Healing potions and making rounds and treating patients! It was disgraceful, and it was beneath him.

But he couldn't stop. She had taken over his thoughts, his dreams, his every waking moment. It was really incredibly rude, and incredibly inconvenient, but his mind went straight to her given half an opportunity. He replayed their conversation over and over in his mind, fantasized about how it felt to hold her in his arms, tortured himself remembering the gleam in her bright blue eyes and the smile constantly lurking at the corners of her mouth. And when she'd talked about love? The faraway look that had come into her eyes, the conviction in her voice like that was the only real thing they'd spoken of . . .

"Al?"

With a start, Al tore his attention away from the bewitching Honoria who had apparently taken up residence in his subconscious. Will Greer, his fellow Healer-in-Training, was trying to get his attention.

"Sorry," Al said. "What did you need?"

"Our shift ended five minutes ago," Will said with a grin and a laugh. "And you've been staring at that shelf for ten."

"Oh," Al said, blinking "Have I?"

"Yeah, mate," Will said, clapping Al on the shoulder. "C'mon. Time to go."

They made their way down to the locker rooms, Al barely noticing the end-of-shift joking and jostling happening along the way. "You know," Will said conversationally as they gathered their personal items, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were lovestruck."

It took Al half a second too long to laugh, but Will didn't seem to notice. "Lovestruck?" Al repeated. "Me?"

Will shrugged with a grin. "Stranger things have happened, right?"

For a moment, Al considered telling him everything. He almost opened his mouth and asked, _What if I was?_

He didn't, though. Will Greer was a good guy. Friendly. Amiable. And for all Al knew, he would be perfectly able to offer romantic advice. But though Al knew Will, worked with him, chatted with him from time to time, they weren't _close_.

No, if Al was going to get advice about this, it needed to be from someone who really knew him, who knew his romantic history without having to be told, and who had a romantic history of his own. Someone who had spent most of his life thinking one way about love, but had been forced unexpectedly to see it in a new light.

He _wanted_ to say he needed Scorpius, but Scorpius was on his honeymoon, and besides, this was about Honoria, the woman Scorpius had almost married. Al couldn't get advice from Scorpius. He'd have to go somewhere else.

He Apparated to his brother's flat and knocked on the door before he could talk himself out of this particular act of insanity.

When James Potter opened the door and saw Al standing on the landing, looking hesitant but determined, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Little brother," he said cheerfully, bracing his weight with his fingertips against the top of the doorframe and leaning out over the threshold. "To what do I owe this unexpected honor?"

Al took a deep breath. "I need your help," he said, and James's face broke into a slow, delighted grin, his eyes twinkling. "_Don't_ make me regret coming here," Al warned immediately. The smile never left James's face.

"Of course not," he said. "Come in, come in." And he led the way into his flat.

James Potter's flat did not look the way much of the world might have expected it to. James had signed on with the Wigtown Wanderers fresh out of Hogwarts and had taken the Quidditch world by storm. But despite being a famous Quidditch star, he lived simply. His flat was small, cozy and welcoming, and looked no different than any flat belonging to any bloke in his late twenties, save for the matching furniture and dishware. He poured Al a drink, and they sat on a leather couch.

"So, little bro," James said, stretching and propping his feet up on the coffee table. "What can I help you with?"

Al sighed and stared into his glass, working up the courage to speak, trying to figure out how to phrase his question in a way that would result in the smallest possible amount of brotherly ridicule. Finally, he looked up. "How did you know Sylvie was the one?"

Sylvie Watford was James's fiancé, a Seeker from a rival Quidditch team, the Kenmare Kestrels. Two years ago, James had stunned everyone by settling down into a long-term, committed relationship, despite years of protestations that he would never be caught in that trap. Five months ago, he'd proposed, and they were getting married in December, much to the dismay of James's female fans.

The question threw James for only a moment, then his eyes lit up in delight. "Is this about a girl?" he demanded gleefully, sitting up. "Is my little brother really here asking me for advice about a _girl_?"

"Yeah, okay," Al said, deciding then and there that this had been a bad idea. He set his drink on the table and stood. "See ya, James."

"No, no, no, no," James said, standing and heading Al off, stifling his laughter as best he could. "I'm sorry. Sit down. I want to help, I do." Al locked eyes with his brother and held him in a steely gaze for a moment or two, trying to determine whether or not he was serious. And James did sober, and even looked a little chagrined for laughing in the first place. "Seriously," he said after a moment. "I'm sorry, Al. I shouldn't have laughed. Sit back down, please?"

"Okay," Al said with a nod, heading back for the sofa. When they were seated again, James invited him with a gesture to continue. "You always said," he started carefully, "when we were in school, and even after, you always said that you would never settle down with anyone. You said that no woman would ever be worth it. And here you are getting married. So I guess I just want to know . . . what happened?"

"Well," James said, nodding, "first of all, it's easy to be an expert on something when you know nothing about it. And back then, I knew nothing about love, okay, Al? I was just running my mouth. And I thought, how on earth could anyone ever be satisfied with one person? I couldn't think of anything more boring then spending the rest of your life with one person, the _same_ person, day after day after day. But then . . ." He trailed off, and his eyes went soft and he smiled with a faraway look that Al had never really seen on his brother before. "Then I met Sylvie," he finished. "And she changed everything. I can't explain it, Al, I really can't, but . . ." He laughed a little, shaking his head, and Al couldn't help but smile.

"There was always something there," James went on. "On the pitch. Something electric. But it wasn't until I spent a day with her _off_ the pitch . . . I was a goner. Suddenly, I couldn't imagine a life, a future, that _didn't_ have her in it, day after day after day, and I honestly can't understand how I ever thought this could be boring. I know it's not the most helpful answer, but I just knew."

Al nodded, lost in thought. He just knew, he'd said. And he'd said there was something _electric _between them. He couldn't help but think of Honoria, of the dance they'd shared, the way the air between them had lit up and the rest of the dancers on the floor had seemed to disappear. He remembered the way he'd lost himself in those bright blue eyes, not even minding that she constantly seemed to be laughing at him, like she'd figured out something he had yet to learn. Sitting on a couch in his brother's apartment, Al's breath caught in his throat in echo of that night, that last moment when her eyes had caught his at the end of the dance and _something_ had passed between them. She'd sounded breathless as she'd bid him goodnight. He could still hear her words.

_Well, Al Potter. I . . . I'm glad I came tonight. I . . . I won't soon forget it_.

She'd kissed him on the cheek, and before he could collect his thoughts enough to say anything, she'd disappeared. He could still feel her lips, warm and soft against his skin.

"Al?"

With a start, Al jerked back to the present. James was watching him with . . . Merlin, was that _sympathy_ in his eyes? What was his world coming to? Al closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face.

"I have a problem," he said.

"Talk to me."

So Al did. He told his brother everything that had happened the night of Scorpius's wedding and everything that had happened in the days since. He described Honoria in all her bewitching beauty, and how she'd turned his life upside down in the space of eight minutes and one meeting.

And James, to his credit, didn't laugh once, or even look like he wanted to. He actually listened, treating the situation with all the weight it merited. Al was tempted to wonder who this man was and what he'd done with his brother, but, well . . . if he hadn't seen this side of James before from time to time, he wouldn't have come here in the first place.

"Well, Al, it sounds like you're a victim of love at first sight," James said when he had finished, and Al reacted violently against that statement.

"No!" he said forcefully, standing and pacing behind the couch.

"Why not?" James asked, entirely serious, turning to follow Al's progress around the room.

"Because that isn't real! Love at first sight? It doesn't exist. I – I _firmly_ believe that."

"First sight, maybe not," James conceded. "But first conversation? First encounter? Al, that happens. Sometimes, you _do_ just know!"

Al shook his head forcefully. "No," he said, still clinging to his flat-out dismissal of the very idea. "It's . . . infatuation. Fixation. But love? No."

"Why not?" James challenged again, standing as well. "All love grows out of something. Why not this?"

"Because!" The word exploded out of him, and Al couldn't remember the last time something had him _this_ worked up. "I don't know her! And she doesn't know me, and you can't fall in love with someone you don't know!"

"But the story starts _somewhere_, Al," James insisted. "On a train platform when you're eleven, or on a Quidditch pitch when you're twenty. Or at a wedding, when you're almost twenty-two."

Al was still shaking his head, but the gesture felt less like a dismissal and more like a denial the longer it went on. "No," he said again, trying to make the word sound final. "I just, I just have to push past this. If I ignore it, the feelings will go away."

"How's that working for you so far?" Al turned to glare at his brother, but James was unfazed. "Will the feelings go away if you ignore them long enough? Probably, yes. But you can't run away from everything, Al! What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not – I'm not afraid of anything!" Al insisted, but the words sounded weak even to him. "It doesn't just happen like this!" he said then, voice desperate. "Not to people like me."

Finally, something won a laugh out of James. "People like you?" James repeated. "What, you mean Ravenclaws? People guided by reason and logic?"

"That's not what I meant," Al said quietly, trying to hide his blush.

"Of course it is," James countered with another good-natured laugh. "But here's the thing, Al. If you're waiting for love to make sense before you commit to it? You're gonna be alone for the rest of your life. If that's what you want, then fine. But if there was any part of you, however small, standing at the side of that dance floor, watching Rose and Scorpius and wanting what they found? Then it's time to take a leap, little brother." He was in front of Al by then, and had him gently by the shoulders. "For once in your life, take a risk. Act without having the next twelve steps planned out. Lead with your heart instead of your head and see what happens. Find this girl. Tell her how you feel. See if she's been affected by it, too. What's the worst that could happen? If it all goes to shit, you have my permission to come back here and say 'I told you so.'"

Al closed his eyes, warring with himself and everything that James was telling him to do. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "I'll think about it."

James gave a short laugh and shook his head, dropping his hands from Al's shoulder and running one through his hair. "Of course you will."

"Hey," Al said wryly. "Agreeing to think about not thinking is a pretty big concession for me."

"Yeah, I know," James said with a grin. "As long as you really will think about it."

"I will," Al promised. "I should go, though. I'm sure Sylvie's on her way over."

"You should stay and have dinner with us," James said then. Al shook his head.

"I'm not great company right now. Rain check?"

James looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end all he said was, "Sure." Then he stopped Al at the door. "Al? That was a great speech you gave at Scorpius's wedding. I hope I can count on you to give just as good a one at mine."

Al froze, staring at his brother. "What?" James gave him a genuine smile.

"You heard me," was all he said.

"I'm not your best man," Al said. "Fred is."

"Fred is a lot of things," James said. "He is my best friend, and I love him, and I trust him with my life. But he's not my brother. You are."

For a long moment, Al didn't know what to say. Eventually, he settled on, "Thank you."

"Get outta here," James said with a smile and a wave of his hand.

Al Apparated back home. He'd promised James he'd think about not thinking, and he did, sitting at the desk in his flat, composing letter after letter to Honoria Ridgeton. Every one of them ended up crumpled into a ball and thrown on the floor. What could he even say? _Hi there, it's Al Potter, who you have no reason to remember. There's a possibility that I've fallen in love with you, and my only hope is that you feel the same, because otherwise this letter is uncomfortably awkward at best and downright creepy at worst_? Yeah. That would go over real well.

Eventually, he gave it up, going to bed in a fit of frustration, doomed to another night of dreams of sweet-smelling hair and laughing eyes and the ghost of lips on his own that would only fuel his distraction at work the next day. Something had to give, and it had to give soon, because he couldn't keep on like this much longer.

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><p>To be continued. Please consider leaving a review!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks as ever to Maggie for the beta-work. I hope it's worth the wait! I'm going to get the other chapters up as soon as I can, but real life is busy and full of many projects requiring my attention, so I'm not going to commit to a specific time frame. I _AM_ working on it, though, I promise!

Without further ado, please enjoy!

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><p>Honoria Ridgeton had a problem and his name was Al Potter. He had plagued her for years, which was particularly infuriating given that she had only officially met him seven days ago.<p>

For most of her life, Honoria had been engaged to Scorpius Malfoy, who had been best friends with Al Potter since the age of eleven. The more time Honoria spent with Scorpius, the more she heard about Al, and the more obvious it had become that Al Potter wanted nothing to do with her.

"Let me guess," she'd said more than once in the two years leading up to her planned Bonding ceremony with Scorpius. "Al can't make it?"

This phrase was usually uttered when Scorpius met her somewhere in London for drinks or dinner or some sort of outing alone when he was supposed to meet her with his mysterious best friend in tow. The question was nearly always greeted with a sheepish look and some excuse like, "He's just swamped at work right now," or "A family obligation came up," or "He came down with a sudden headache."

When Scorpius had used that last one, Honoria had laughed with a dry humor. "Like a Victorian lady at bedtime?" she'd quipped, to the telltale reddening of Scorpius's ears. "If he doesn't want to meet me, he can just say so," she'd said then, trying to act as though she didn't care one way or the other — which wasn't even close to being true. Al Potter hadn't even _met_ her! What reason could he possibly have for so steadfastly avoiding an introduction? If she was going to marry Scorpius, which she'd committed to doing and fully intended to follow through on, she wanted to at least be on speaking terms with his best friend.

Her comment had finally earned something close to truth from Scorpius. "It's . . . a complicated situation," he'd said quietly, and Honoria had spent quite a bit of time honestly wondering if Al Potter might not be in love with Scorpius himself. After all, he and Scorpius were obviously close, and Scorpius had never mentioned a girlfriend in connection with Al . . . But if that were true and Scorpius were aware of it (as he obviously was), would he be so comfortable with the complicated situation? She had no idea, and Scorpius made it pretty clear that it wasn't a subject he was interested in discussing. Honoria did her best to respect that.

_It's also possible he's just one of those guys who doesn't want his friendship to change with the insertion of a committed partner,_ she eventually reasoned._ Either way, his dislike of me clearly has very little to do with me personally – how could it? So it really doesn't matter in the slightest._

She'd tried to move forward and not let Al Potter bother her, but that had been easier said than done. And that had all been before she'd even set eyes on him. It was slightly irksome to her that, like many of the females of her generation, she had an inescapable fixation with Albus Potter. But at least, she tried to reason, hers had nothing to do with his father. No, it was the man himself driving her insane. That he was Harry Potter's son was, in her case, purely incidental.

And then she'd realized she couldn't marry Scorpius, conspired with him to call off their wedding, and learned that there was a girl he'd been in love with for years but hadn't allowed himself to be with because of the promises he'd made Honoria. And when she'd learned that the girl in question was Rose Weasley, cousin to one Al Potter, well. A lot had suddenly made sense.

"You might have told me that Al didn't want to meet me because he thought I had usurped his cousin's rightful place at your side," she'd scolded Scorpius at lunch with the happy couple the day after their engagement had been announced. Scorpius had rewarded her with that sheepish look again. Rose had rolled her eyes.

"Are you trying to tell me that Al honestly refused to meet Honoria for three years?" she'd demanded of her fiancé. "Merlin, he would, that stubborn arse." The words had been spoken with a certain amount of affection.

"That loyal to you?" Honoria had asked her.

"That irritatingly old-fashionedly romantic," Rose had corrected. "Honestly, as practical-minded as he is about everything else, my cousin is remarkably . . . I don't even know what to call it."

"Stubborn about clinging to the childlike belief that true love should be fought and held out for above all else?" Scorpius had supplied, and Rose had nodded at once.

"Yes. That. Excellently put."

"I've had a while to compose the wording."

Honoria had nodded and tried to laugh in exasperation at Al with them, but the truth was, what they had said had resonated with her in a very real way. Wasn't that, after all, why she had called off the wedding in the first place?_ I want love, _she'd told Scorpius._ I want to lose my head and do crazy things, all in the name of some guy I know I can't live without. I want to find the person I'm supposed to be with. _

So Al Potter's position? It made perfect sense to her.

Rose and Scorpius had been married a week ago. They'd invited Honoria, but quietly. Honoria had gone, keeping to the back of the chapel, sticking to the edges of the crowd at the reception, but as Scorpius and Rose had shared their first dance as husband and wife, she had seen Al Potter standing by himself at the edge of the dance floor, and she hadn't been able to resist. She'd been trying to meet this man since she was seventeen years old, and she hadn't known if she'd ever get another chance. So she'd gone up and started talking.

A week later, she still couldn't quite believe the way she'd spoken to him. She must have sounded insane. She'd tried to be mysterious and alluring, tried to keep him off guard the way he had with her for years, albeit unintentionally. But she was the one walking away off balance. She'd just wanted to leave an impression, but somehow, he'd had gotten caught firmly under _her_ skin, and she'd left the party after sharing a single dance with him because otherwise . . . well, she wasn't sure _what_ she might have done.

A week later, she was still fixating on Al Potter. She just kept thinking about their conversation at the wedding, the things she had said to him, what she had told him she wanted.

_I want, so badly, to experience the craziness of love. To lose my mind and my reason and my senses. To speak once with a young man, and have him possess my thoughts and my daydreams for days afterward._

Her face went red and hot as soon as she remembered the way he'd looked at her that night, like she was a puzzle or a mystery, like he wanted nothing more than to make sense of her. And oh, the way her dreaming and daydreaming mind filled in the blanks about how _that_ might happen . . .

"Honoria?"

She jumped at the sound of her name, her quill splattering ink across her data sheet. Cursing, she pulled out her wand and siphoned the ink off the page. "Sorry," she said at once. Her friend and coworker Saoirse slid in across from her at the worktable.

"Honey, where was your head?" Saoirse said, sounding a bit concerned. "You were looking at that data sheet, but you were a million miles away, and that's not the first time this week. I've covered for you three or four times with Stephen."

"Saoirse, I'm sorry, I didn't—"

Saoirse waved away her apology. "'Noria, I don't care, you know I don't," she said with a laugh. "God, how many times have you covered for me? I'm just worried about you." She reached over and laid a hand over Honoria's. "I saw that Scorpius Malfoy got married this past weekend. Are you okay?"

Being heartbroken over her former betrothed's marriage was so far from the problem Honoria was dealing with that it took her a moment to wrap her mind around what Saoirse was suggesting.

"What? No. I mean –" She shook her head, trying to clear it. "This isn't about that."

"Because I know how hard it can be watching an ex move on," Saoirse continued. Honoria just shook her head.

"Scorpius and I were never romantic," Honoria reminded her."It was arranged, and I'm the one who called it off." Saoirse shrugged like that didn't matter.

"It doesn't mean you can't be upset about it. I'm the one who broke up with Deirdre, but I still felt like punching a wall the first time I saw her out with someone else."

"No," Honoria said with another shake of her head. "Scorpius is not who I'm pining after."

She hadn't intended to reveal that much; it had just slipped out. But Saoirse knew romantic intrigue when she heard it, and her whole body visibly perked up. Honoria buried her face in her hands. "Shit," she said, and Saoirse clapped her hands together and grinned.

"Come on. You and I are getting a drink. Like, right now. Don't even try to get out of it."

Saoirse was a force of nature Honoria had long ago learned not to try and fight. Their shift was more or less over, so Honoria allowed herself to be packed up and Apparated away to The Leaky Cauldron to talk about romance over shots of Firewhisky.

"You have to find him," was Saoirse's immediate response when Honoria had finished the whole saga. Honoria blinked.

"What?"

"Yeah," Saoirse said, nodding with great enthusiasm, completely caught up. "Oh, 'Noria, you _have_ to find him! This is exactly what you wanted, _exactly_ what you told him you were waiting for! You have to find him, and you have to tell him how you feel, and I know you're about to tell me that's crazy," she said loudly, speaking over (and correctly identifying) Honoria's attempted interruption, "but that's exactly _why_. You have to do it _because _it's crazy!"

Saoirse's words sparked a fire in her that Honoria tried desperately to ignore. She shook her head emphatically, at a loss for words. "I — I _can't_."

"Why not?"

"Because! I —" She faltered, trying to find a good reason. "I don't even know how I'd find him."

Saoirse's eyes lit up in victory the moment Honoria said it, and she knew exactly why, couldn't deny the damning evidence herself. Because that wasn't something you said if you weren't going to do a thing. That was something you said when doing the thing was inevitable.

"You can ask Scorpius," she said to that, and before the words were out of her mouth, Honoria said, firm and unyielding, "I'm _not_ asking Scorpius." Saoirse smirked.

"Okay. Then, do you know where he works?"

With great regret, Honoria answered in the affirmative. "St. Mungo's," she mumbled. "He's an intern there." Saoirse's eyes lit up even more, and she leaned across the table.

"Is he working tonight?"

"I don't know his schedule, Seersh, I'm not a stalker!" Honoria protested violently. Saoirse just smirked.

"Go to Mungo's," she said, voice low and intense. "Say you're sick and you _have_ to see Healer Al Potter."

"And in this sexual schoolgirl fantasy of yours, what exactly am I supposed to do when he shows up in the exam room?" Honoria asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm. Saoirse just gave her a highly suggestive look, and Honoria shoved her from across the table. Saoirse laughed.

"Tell him how you feel," she answered. "If he doesn't feel the same way, you leave and you never have to see him again." Honoria's focus turned inward as she sat, still and silent, considering all angles of the situation within her mind. "Look," Saoirse said then. "Here's the bottom line as I see it. Do you want to see him again?"

Honoria didn't hesitate, but quietly answered, "Yes."

"Then go see him again." She said that like it was that simple, that obvious a solution, and Honoria wanted to argue that it wasn't that simple, but she knew in her heart that it was. This was what she wanted. She had expressed this desire to Scorpius, to her parents, to Al himself, and here it was, in front of her, the mad, impulsive gesture carried out in the name of love, the emotion that overwhelmed her, had been overwhelming her for a full week now.

She'd once told Scorpius that she was, at heart, a selfish person, someone who went after her own desires and happiness before anything else. She'd been seventeen when she'd said it, young and idealistic, and the words were no longer true in the way they had been when she'd said them. She still wanted that which would make her happy, but she also wanted that to be something which would make the people she cared about happy as well. She would not have called off the Bonding if Scorpius hadn't wanted it, too. She would not pursue a _something_ with Al Potter unless he made it likewise clear that it was also his desire.

"I have to find him," she said. Saoirse grinned.

"Yeah, you do," she said. "Go get him!"

Before she could second-guess herself again, Honoria stood, drained the last of her drink, and marched out of the pub, purposeful and direct.

She Apparated to St. Mungo's without hesitation, and when she made her way up to the Medi-Witch at the check-in desk, her story came out easily. "Hi," she said, "there's no real rush on this, I know you are probably very busy, but recently I've been suffering some dizzy spells and periods of distraction that are very unusual for me. I had one just as work was ending, and I don't feel safe Apparating home without it being looked into. Better safe than sorry, right?"

She was directed to an exam room on the second floor and told that someone would be in with her shortly. Seated on the raised table, hearing the click of her chart full of false symptoms as it slid into its slot on the door, she kept her thoughts focused firmly on Al. She had to. If she didn't, the enormity, the utter foolishness of what she was doing here would catch up with her and she would walk straight out before she had a chance to talk to anyone.

It wasn't until a young blond Healer-in-Training walked through the door that Honoria realized what she'd forgotten to do.

_Stupid, _stupid_ lovesick girl! _she berated herself. _If you're faking an illness in order to see a specific Healer, you might, at some point, want to _ask_ for that specific Healer, you imbecilic—_

"Well, Miss Ridgeton," the Healer-in-Training said in a friendly voice, referencing her chart, "I hear you're having some trouble with dizziness?"

"Yes, off and on for a week now," Honoria said, thinking fast. "Actually, I know that, uh, Al Potter is a Healer in Training here, and he was actually present when I had the first attack, so . . ."

She trailed off at the look on the Healer's face. His smile had frozen in an almost beleaguered way, and Honoria cursed herself again for her lack of foresight as the Healer-in-Training said, "Well, Healer Potter isn't working the second level today, but I assure you that all the Healers available are well trained to meet your needs."

_Salvage, salvage, salvage_, she thought frantically, trying not to let her franticness show on her face. She gave her best sheepish but winning smile.

"Oh, gosh," she said, aiming for disarming. "I know what I must sound like. I bet you get that all the time, right? Young women coming in, claiming illness, looking for Al Potter?" She did not mention that technically, she _was_ one of those women. "But listen, Healer Greer," she said after a quick glance at his name-tag. "I'm asking after Healer Potter only because he was there when my symptoms started, at a wedding a week ago."

She was tempted to say more, to argue that she really did know Al, and if he'd just go and get him, he'd see. But she was also aware that the more she said, the more she would sound like one of those girls who probably, yes, did come in here all the time. So she forced herself to stop talking, to keep smiling, to meet his suspicious gaze and not look away.

After a long moment, his eyes dropped to her chart. He cleared his throat, saying, "Excuse me for one moment, would you, Miss Ridgeton?"

When the door clicked shut behind him, Honoria slumped forward, heart pounding in her ears. What the hell was she even doing here? Now that she had lost the momentum fueled by pep talks and alcohol and love-induced insanity, it occurred to her that there were probably about eight million better ways to get the attention of one Al Potter than lying about medical symptoms and hoping that fate would send him, out of all the Healers in the hospital, to her exam room. It was official – she had gone insane.

She was still in her Ministry uniform – why hadn't she Conjured an envelope of some kind and posed as a messenger with a top secret missive that she'd been charged to put into only Al Potter's hands? He was the son of the Head Auror – she was pretty sure no one would have questioned it.

Or she could have posed as a visitor – she knew the names of plenty of long-term patients here. She could easily have said that she was visiting on behalf of her department and some exploratory research they'd uncovered or conducted, and then waited to be admitted, skulked through the halls until she heard his name, followed the speakers until she knew where he was, then casually waited for him to pass by so she could pull out the "Oh! Fancy meeting you here!" — No, on second thought, that scenario made her out to be much more of a stalker than the situation she currently found herself in.

Ugh, was it too late to just slip out and disappear and try to pretend like this had never happened? As long as she never got sick or had to come back here and risk seeing Healer Greer again, she might survive the mortification.

She pulled out her wand and cast a Hearing Extension charm to ascertain whether or not the corridor was clear, but damn it, she was having the worst possible luck today (or the best?) because Healer Greer was now clearly audible coming back down the hall, with another set of footsteps in addition to his own.

". . . a little different from your usual groupies, is all. This one claims to know you."

"Don't they usually claim to know me?"

Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice, which was just irritating. Shit. Her plan had worked. He was _right there_.

"Yeah, but this one was more specific than most. She said you treated her symptoms at a wedding this weekend, and I know you were _at_ a wedding this weekend—"

"The whole wizarding world knows I was at a wedding this weekend, and I didn't treat anyone for anything. But it's fine. I haven't personally dealt with any of my groupies for a while, so I'm due. What's the girl's name?"

"Uh . . . Ridgeton. Honori–"

"_What_?" Al broke in, his tone completely different. "Honoria?" And with barely any warning, the door to her exam room burst open, and his eyes were on her, and it was suddenly a bit difficult to breathe. "Are you all right? What's wrong? Where's her chart?" That last was directed over his shoulder, to Healer Greer, who handed over the grey clipboard, looking sheepish.

"You do know her then," he said to Al. Then his gaze shot up to Honoria. "Sorry for doubting you, miss," he said to her. "It's just, you hit it on the head, we get a lot of girls who—"

"Apology noted, thanks, Will," Al said then, shutting the door on his coworker and turning back to Honoria. "Dizziness and distraction?" he asked, reading off her chart. "You didn't seem to be having any problems when we talked at the wedding, but you did leave abruptly. If you weren't feeling well, you should have said something. I could have —"

"Al," she interrupted, because she had to, because his sudden presence was a bit overwhelming, his hand against her forehead testing for fever, his eyes boring into hers, looking for symptoms of vertigo they wouldn't find. "I'm fine."

The words had the desired (undesired?) effect; he took a step back, frowning at her. "Symptoms like these aren't ones to dismiss lightly. You should have come in before now." And he reached for her face again, and she didn't want to think about what she might do to him if he touched her like that a second time, so she stopped him with one hand.

"Al," she said again, trying to sound firm and not breathless. "Al, truly, I'm all right. I'm not sick." He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"If you're not sick, then what are you—"

"I had to see you."

It came out in a rush, and he reacted immediately, freezing, almost on guard, and Honoria had to work to hold back her irritation with herself for being so abrupt. What happened to the mysterious, alluring girl of a week ago? She took a deep breath and started again.

"I have been getting distracted at work, every day this week. And the dizziness . . . well, it's not dizziness so much as feeling like my feet have been knocked out from under me. But I know exactly what both of those things are stemming from, Al Potter, and it's you. I can't get you out of my head. For a week now, _all_ I can think about is _you_. And I'm here right now because —" She made the mistake of looking up into his bright, intense green eyes, and she faltered, losing her breath. "Because I had to take a leap. I had to see you. I had to know if this is all me, or if there's even the slightest chance that it's you, too. Merlin and Circe."

She dropped her face briefly into her hands, trying to compose herself. After a deep breath, she raised her face again.

"This is the maddest thing I've ever done," she assured him then. "Absolutely the maddest. And when I told you a week ago that I wanted to be overwhelmed by love, I didn't expect it to happen so quickly, and I didn't expect it to happen with you, but on the off chance that it's not just me —"

She made the mistake of looking him in the eyes again. He was staring at her like he was only just beginning to process everything she was saying, and she was struck suddenly with the terrifying notion that there was a chance that when he _could _speak, it would be to tell her that all this _was_ just her. That thought took her breath away more surely than his eyes did.

"Anyway," she said in another rush, standing and conjuring a card of parchment and a quill. "I'm not asking you to say anything at the moment," she told him while scribbling her address on the card before she could second-guess this decision. "In fact, I'd prefer if you didn't. I know that seems to run counter to this whole declaration, but the truth is, if you're going to tell me it's just me, then I'd rather not hear you say it. And since there's a 50% chance that that would be your response if I let you talk — "

Her eyes dropped down to the card in her hands as she brushed it against her fingertips. Finally, she held it out to him. "This is my address. When you're off work, when you're able to, if it's not just me . . . come find me? If you don't . . . that will be answer enough. I'll never bother you again, we can pretend it never happened. But if you feel this too . . . if you're willing to take a leap with me . . ." She trailed off, meeting his eyes one last time. He was still staring at her, frozen in place.

He made no move to take the card from her hands, so she crossed to him and slipped it into the pocket of his lab coat. Her fingers lingered on the pocket for the briefest moment, then she looked back up at him. "I'm hoping to see you soon," she said in a whisper, and then she left, slipped from the exam room and left the hospital and didn't stop until she had Apparated back to her flat. Sagging, weak-kneed, against the closed door, she slid to the floor of her entry hall and tried to wrap her head around what she'd just done.

It was almost dusk, and she hadn't eaten, but she was too keyed up to eat, too keyed up to anything other than pace the length of the flat, chewing on her lip and weighing the odds of Al Potter wanting anything to do with the mad ex-fiancé of his best friend who had randomly showed up in his exam room today, raving about being in love with him after meeting him once.

But she meant what she'd said, and if he didn't show up tonight, she'd have her answer. And she'd leave him alone. She would. It's not like they were people whose paths would often cross. And if they did in the past, she'd be pleasant and polite and cordial and never speak of this, and eventually, this infatuation would disappear. She'd return to rationality. She could pretend this had never happed. She could.

When the knock came, at half past eleven, she almost didn't answer the door. She almost believed she'd imagined the sound of the knock, willed it into being somehow, and that if she opened the door, it would just confirm that she had gone round the bend. But when she made no response, the knock came again, and then she was at the door in a heartbeat and had opened it before she had a chance to consider the action.

And there was Al Potter, hand raised to knock, hair tousled, eyes worried and hesitant, but he was _there_, and he was _looking_ at her like that, and all she wanted to do was launch herself at him, but she forced herself to hold back, to wait, to hear what he had to say.

He was silent for a heartbeat or two, just looking at her, and then he said, "It's not just you."

"Oh, thank _God_," she said, throwing herself across the threshold and into his waiting arms.

* * *

><p>To be continued...<p> 


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